Page 2

TWO

MARA

T he lavender sachets were screaming.

Mara Voss paused in arranging her apothecary stall at Moondrip Market, her hands stilling over the delicate purple bundles that had been perfectly calm when she'd packed them that morning.

Now they vibrated against their silk wrappings like angry bees, their dried flowers releasing bursts of scent so sharp it made her eyes water.

"Well, that's not normal," she muttered, her slight Vermont accent thickening with concern.

Around her, the weekly farmers market buzzed with its usual supernatural charm.

Mrs. Pennyweather was selling pies that steamed despite the crisp October air, their crusts golden and their magical warmth drawing customers like moths to flame.

Tom from the bakery had enchanted his sourdough to slice itself for samples, while the florist's dryad assistant grew fresh bouquets on demand, coaxing blooms from seemingly dead stems with touches that glowed faintly green.

But underneath the market's whimsical energy, something felt wrong. The magical currents that usually flowed through Mistwhisper Falls like gentle streams had turned choppy and unpredictable, full of eddies and undertows that made Mara's fae-touched senses itch with unease.

She'd felt something similar exactly six months ago, standing in her Boston healing practice as the protective wards she'd spent years perfecting shattered like spun glass around her.

"Focus, Mara," she whispered to herself, the words becoming a familiar mantra. "You're safe here. This is different."

But her herbs disagreed. The chamomile was agitated, the sage was practically vibrating with warning, and her prized moonflower petals, carefully harvested under three full moons and kept in spelled containers, were glowing like tiny stars in distress.

A woman with steel-gray hair and knowing eyes approached her stall, moving with the careful grace of someone who'd learned to navigate supernatural marketplaces without accidentally triggering anything dangerous.

Margaret Hartwell, if Mara remembered correctly from her brief visit to town six months ago when she'd been scouting locations for her escape from Boston.

"You're the herbal witch who inquired about stall space," Margaret stated, her tone full of inquiry and an experienced someone who'd been handling supernatural community business since before Mara was born. "Mara Voss, wasn't it? I'm surprised to see you back so soon."

"Plans changed," Mara said, securing a bundle of particularly agitated peppermint with string that sparkled faintly with calming magic. "Sometimes you have to follow where your power wants to go, you know?"

Margaret's eyebrows rose slightly. "And your power wanted to come to Mistwhisper Falls?"

"My power wanted to run away from Boston," Mara said honestly, then immediately wondered why she'd shared that much with a virtual stranger.

There was something about this town that made people more open, more willing to trust. It was part of its charm and probably part of its danger.

"But yes, this place feels... right. Like I'm supposed to be here. "

"Interesting timing," Margaret murmured, glancing toward the forest preserve that bordered the market grounds. "Given this morning's excitement at the wildlife sanctuary."

Mara's hands stilled on her lavender display. "What kind of excitement?"

"The kind that has Sheriff Maddox calling in specialists and Deputy Cooper looking like he hasn't slept in a week." Margaret's expression grew concerned. "Some sort of magical disturbance. Trees growing in ways that trees shouldn't grow, animals fleeing like something spooked them proper."

The lavender sachets gave another violent tremor, and Mara finally understood what they were trying to tell her.

Her herbs were responding to whatever had happened in the forest, their natural magical properties amplified by her fae ancestry until they became early warning systems for supernatural threats.

Just like they had in Boston, in the weeks before her practice was attacked.

"Excuse me," Margaret said, her attention shifting to something behind Mara. "Looks like you might have your first customer."

Mara turned to see a man approaching her stall with the purposeful stride of someone who had urgent business to conduct.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the kind of solid build that came from years of physical work rather than gymnasium vanity.

His dark brown hair was mussed as if he'd been running his fingers through it, and his brown eyes held the exhausted wariness of a parent who'd been dealing with more than any one person should have to handle.

But it was the small girl clutching his hand that made Mara's breath catch in her throat.

The child couldn't have been more than six, with dark curls that caught the autumn sunlight and amber eyes that held far too much wisdom for someone who should still believe in tooth fairies and bedtime stories.

But it wasn't her appearance that made Mara's magic sit up and take notice.

It was the power radiating from her small frame like heat from a forge, wild and untrained and barely contained by whatever natural barriers a child's mind could construct.

The moment their eyes met, something clicked into place with an almost audible snap. The child's chaotic energy settled like a startled horse recognizing its rider, while Mara's own magic hummed with recognition and welcome.

"Daddy," the little girl said, tugging on her father's hand without taking her eyes off Mara. "She smells like home."

The man's gaze sharpened, focusing on Mara with the intensity of someone assessing a potential threat or solution. "You're the herbal witch," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Mara Voss," she said, extending her hand in greeting. "And you must be Deputy Cooper. Margaret mentioned you'd had a difficult morning."

When their fingers touched, the connection was immediate and electric.

Not the overwhelming crash of fated mates that she'd heard other supernatural couples describe, but something steadier and deeper.

Like two puzzle pieces discovering they were meant to fit together, their magical signatures harmonizing in ways that made the surroundings shimmer with possibility.

Her heart raced, and suddenly, she felt like he was the one.

It was crazy, but fate like to play tricks all the time.

"Griff," he said, his voice rougher than it had been a moment before. His bear was close to the surface, she realized, responding to her fae-touched magic with interest rather than wariness. "And this is my daughter, Tilly."

"Hello, Tilly," Mara said, crouching down to the child's eye level. Up close, the little girl's power was even more remarkable, layers of different magical influences woven together in patterns that shouldn't have been possible. "I'm Mara. I grow things that help people feel better."

"Like magic medicine?" Tilly asked, her amber eyes brimming with curiosity.

"Exactly like magic medicine." Mara glanced up at Griff, noting the tension in his shoulders and the protective way he positioned himself slightly in front of his daughter. "Is there something I can help you with?"

“I’m looking for plants that calm the mind,” he replied. Griff's jaw tightened, and for a moment Mara thought he might refuse assistance he'd come seeking.

But then Tilly's magic gave a small, experimental pulse, and several of the potted plants at nearby stalls responded by blooming out of season, their flowers opening in a cascade of color that drew murmurs of appreciation from other market-goers.

"Sorry," Tilly whispered, looking embarrassed. "I didn't mean to do that."

"It's beautiful," Mara said gently, watching as the child's power settled again now that she'd received reassurance instead of scolding. "But I bet it's hard to control sometimes, isn't it?"

Tilly nodded solemnly. "It gets really loud when I'm scared or upset. And lately it's been loud a lot."

Mara's heart clenched. She remembered being young and frightened by her own abilities, the way untrained magic could feel like a wild animal trapped inside your chest, desperate to break free.

Her own family hadn't understood, had treated her gift like a character flaw that needed to be corrected rather than a talent that needed guidance.

"Mr. Cooper," she said, rising to face Griff directly. "Why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

He was quiet for a long moment, studying her face as if trying to determine whether she could be trusted with whatever burden he was carrying. Finally, he glanced around the market to ensure they weren't being overheard, then leaned closer.

"Tilly's been having nightmares," he said quietly. "Vivid ones, about shadows and strange women and things that shouldn't exist outside of fairy tales. And every time she has one of these dreams, something happens. Electronics short out, plants grow too fast, small objects move on their own."

"It's not just dreams, Daddy," Tilly interjected, her voice a whisper. "The pretty lady is real. She was at my window last night, and she had all these shadows dancing around her. They wanted to come inside, but Mr. Gruff scared them away."

Mara's blood chilled. She'd heard similar stories in Boston, in the weeks before everything fell apart. Children with emerging magical abilities who reported seeing figures that adults dismissed as imagination, until those figures proved to be very real and very dangerous.

"Has anyone else in town been experiencing unusual supernatural activity?" she asked Griff, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

"As of this morning, yes." His expression grew grimmer. "Something broke one of the old founder wards out at the wildlife sanctuary. The whole eastern section of the preserve has gone haywire, and whatever did it is still out there."